Harry Potter and the Endless Parade of Meaningless Clichés
by AHighAndLonesomeSound
Summary: During the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, a mysterious bottle marked "return to Troperville" gets broken. Strange things begin to happen to Harry's life in the aftermath. What on Earth is going on? And will things ever return to normal? Parody. Rated M for strong language, crude humour, cartoonish violence and wanton cruelty to Dramione shippers.
1. Chapter One

**Harry Potter and the Endless Parade of Meaningless Clichés**

**Chapter One – Cold Open**

_TV Tropes will ruin your life._

_ A warning and real-life trope entry on the TV Tropes wiki. Consider yourselves warned. _

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><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>

…

**Hem, hem. I **_**said**_** DISCLAIMER.**

***glowers at screen***

**Fine, fine, a disclaimer… I don't own **_**Harry Potter**_**. If I did, Luna would get more scenes but the overall plot would probably be a lot weaker. I don't own any of the other fictional characters who may or may not appear in this, either. If I did, their stories would probably be a lot worse than they are. I don't own TV Tropes. Nobody owns TV Tropes, although I hear that in Russia, TV Tropes owns you. This fic is intended as a parody of many of the things I personally find annoying about the fandom. It also parodies some things I love about the fandom. It also has a go at the books, obviously. And stuff. Will that do? I don't normally do disclaimers, you see…**

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><p><span>Department of Mysteries, June 18th 1996:<span>

Harry hurtled down the corridor, followed by Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna. The Death Eaters were in hot pursuit and he knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up. Reasoning that they would be less likely to be spotted if they weren't on a main corridor, he opened a door to his left and the six teens ducked into the room behind it. Neville locked the door, while the others lit up the room with wandlight. Looking around, it was clear that the room they had chosen as their hiding-place was less than ideal. It was small, and there was no cover. In fact, the room was entirely empty except for a small glass case on a raised plinth against the back wall. Harry and Hermione walked over to take a closer look. There was a label on the case that said _Warning: do NOT open without proper authorisation. Observe Security Protocol 168 at all times. The contents of this case require further study. Found during Breach Event TZ15. Details in file no. 20222018.1516519. _

Inside the case was a bottle, also made of glass. It appeared to be filled with some kind of smoke, which was constantly furling and moving and forming shapes that hovered just on the edge of recognition. There was a very old, faded label on the bottle.

_If found, please return to Troperville _**[here there was a large smudge]** _not open unless you know what you're doing. And yes, we're aware that this warning is pointless and you'll probably open it anyway. Consider this a disclaimer, suckers!_

The two friends exchanged a look.

"Back away slowly and then leg it when we reach a safe distance?" asked Harry.

Hermione nodded and they hastily back-peddled to the door.

"OK guys," Harry whispered, "we're going to have to make a break for it. There's no cover here, and I don't like the look of what's in that cabinet."

Ron nodded grimly and moved to open the door. Just before he got to it, it was blasted inwards.

"GOT THEM!" bellowed Lucius Malfoy triumphantly.

Bellatrix Lestrange ducked under his arm and dived into the room, grabbing Luna by the waist.

"I can't curse you while you're holding the prophecy, Potter, but let's see how long you want to keep hold of it when I'm torturing your little friend. _Crucio_!"

To Harry's surprise, Luna managed to land a kick on Bellatrix, who fell backwards clutching her rib. The deranged Death Eater jumped to her feet, snarling, and cast a Stunner at Luna. The blonde Ravenclaw ducked and the spell shot over her head. Harry followed its trajectory, watching as it flew with depressing inevitability towards the glass display case.

There was the sound of glass smashing, and then a bright white light.

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><p>Right, so, this is the point where the author of a parodic fanfiction would break the fourth wall to remind y'all that it's a parody. In the light of the last sentence of the actual narrative thus far, they would probably make some crack about smashing the fourth wall, but that would be fucking stupid, wouldn't it? In fact, the whole conceit would be trite, boring and overdone. So I'm going to avoid it.<p>

Oh. Shit.

Oh, well, on with the motley…

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><p>Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of the room. Everyone else was stirring feebly and groaning, except for Bellatrix, who was curled up in the foetal position ceaselessly muttering "The horror! The horror!"<p>

Harry stood up hastily and began rousing his friends. As his eyes readjusted after the burst of light, he noticed something swirling on the edge of his vision, always in the corner of his eye wherever he turned his head. It was like a mist outlining the walls and everything in the room, even the people, and slowly sinking in to them. He didn't like the look of that.

The six of them had barely made it clear of the doorway when Lucius started struggling to his feet, so they ran wildly, seeing the same mist all around them. They didn't stop until they found themselves back in the room with the creepy veil. Once they piled into the room and sealed the nearest door, they weren't really sure where to go, so Hermione began magically locking every other door she could see. She had only got about half of them done when Lucius and Bellatrix burst into the room, followed by two masked Death Eaters. Harry gaped. His two enemies looked completely different to how they had just a few minutes ago. Malfoy's cheekbones were higher, his hair was slightly longer – in fact, he looked like one of Tolkien's elves, thought Harry, suddenly grateful for the library in his primary school – and he seemed a lot more handsome. As for Bellatrix… She was no longer the gaunt witch who had escaped Azkaban. She looked a lot more like she had in Dumbledore's memory of her trial, wild and beautiful. The oddest thing was that her robes had disappeared. She was now wearing black lace gloves, a black skirt with – you guessed it – black lace trimming, black button boots and a black corset. There was definitely a colour scheme in play, and Harry wondered if it was supposed to be some kind of pun on her maiden name. He was impressed by her ability to run in the corset, which had compressed her waist to a diameter of a few inches but was straining under the pressure of her ample bust. It looked like running would involve lung strain, cracked ribs, back pain and a _lot_ of bouncing, and yet somehow she hadn't even broken a sweat. Lucius kept shooting vaguely bemused glances in her direction.

One of the Death Eaters grabbed Neville, the other pulled Ginny into a headlock. Bellatrix made another dive for Luna. Luna sidestepped, tripped her up and stamped on her prone form, smiling dreamily all the while.

"Enough games, Potter," snarled Lucius. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact that he was examining his elegantly-manicured fingernails. "I chipped a fucking nail back there! NO! I mean, give me the prophecy or watch your friends die!"

It didn't look like Harry had any choice. He held out the glass ball, but before Lucius could take it another door burst open. Harry looked up: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley had arrived. The Order was here and everything was going to be OK. He grabbed Hermione and Luna and pulled down behind the dias. Neville and Ginny broke free of their captors and joined them, followed by Ron. With Luna no longer standing on her, Bellatrix sprung up and joined the fray. Bouncing ensued.

It irked Harry to be sidelined when his friends were fighting, but amid the confusion of battle it was difficult to tell friend from foe, and he was afraid that if he started firing off spells he might hit an Order member. After a few minutes, the air around the veil was thick with discharged magic, making it even harder to see what was going on. Suddenly, he heard Bellatrix's laugh ringing out and Tonks came flying through the air. She landed in front of Harry, clearly out cold. Bellatrix appeared in pursuit, and saw Harry standing over Tonks. She grinned wickedly, running her tongue over her teeth.

"Got you, Potter! _Stupify_!"

Harry hastily conjured a Shield Charm and deflected the spell. Before Bellatrix could cast again, Sirius appeared out of nowhere, rugby-tackling her and driving her away from Harry. The two cousins began to duel ferociously, both casting to kill. Sirius was ducking and diving, dodging everything that Bellatrix could throw at him. Jumping up in front of the veil, he cast a Stunner that Bellatrix barely managed to avoid. Furious, the Death Eater leaped forwards, firing a series of Stunners directly at Sirius' chest. He fell backwards through the veil and disappeared.

Everything seemed to have gone strangely quiet apart from the ringing in Harry's ears. He knew instinctively that Sirius was dead. He felt anger coursing through his body. Anger, and something else. _Power_. Pure, unadulterated power. He ran full-tilt towards Bellatrix, screaming with rage and grief, and everything went black.

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><p>Let's take a moment here to look at the big picture. The camera pans out. Out of the Veil room, out of the Department, out of the Ministry. That strange mist is spreading outwards and overlaying everything and everyone it comes in contact with. Pay close attention, the special effects are quite expensive. As a matter of fact, they're so expensive that I couldn't afford them, so I borrowed an old set from <em>The Light Fantastic<em> by Terry Pratchett. That's why there's a vague suggestion of Chelonianishness to the shapes the mist makes as it swirls.

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><p>Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on something. A bed. Confused, he sat up.<p>

"Ah, Harry, you're awake," said a familiar voice, and Dumbledore stepped into his field of vision.

"What… what happened?" muttered Harry, clutching his pounding head.

"When Bellatrix Lestrange killed Sirius, it appears that you had an outburst of accidental magic, as happened when you inflated your Aunt Marge three years ago. Except this time it was on a much more powerful scale. Surprisingly powerful, in fact. I arrived at the scene just after you had lashed out with so much magical energy that every single Death Eater in the room had been knocked unconscious. The effort made you pass out."

Harry frowned.

"And the others? Are they OK?"

"No lasting harm done," replied Dumbledore with a reassuring smile, "and your eruption of magic didn't seem to affect them at all."

"That's odd," said Harry, feeling puzzled, "surely an uncontrollable blast of accidental magic should have hurt everyone?"

Dumbledore shrugged, and Harry remembered his other pressing question.

"What was with the prophecy about Voldemort and me?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"I had hoped to save this news until better circumstances, but… fifteen years ago I was interviewing Sybill Trelawney for the vacancy of Divination Professor. The interview took place in the Hog's Head, and towards the end she went into a trance and made a prophecy."

He paused, and then recited from memory.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

Harry gaped, and Dumbledore continued.

"Halfway through the prophecy, _before the bit about the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal_, the barman caught a Death Eater who was spying on the meeting. Thus, Voldemort received an incomplete version of the prophecy. Not knowing that it was his actions that would complete it, he weighed up the two potential candidates for the one with the power to vanquish him. There were two children born at the end of July to Order members who had escaped him three times in the past. One was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"So, then, the prophecy could be about Neville?" asked Harry, confused.

"No, it has to be you, because Voldemort marked you as his equal. It could have been about Neville before he did that, but no longer. Now, I suspect, he has realised that he didn't hear the full prophecy and wants to hear the rest in case it explains how he failed to kill you, not realising that you are protected by your mother's love. Which, by the way, is why you must return to Privet Drive each summer. Lily's protection lives on in your aunt's blood."

Harry was struggling to keep up. This was a lot to take in. One thing, however, was still bugging him.

"And the last bit? _Neither can live while the other survives_?"

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore serenely, "one of you is going to have to kill the other, in the end. Lemon drop?"

Harry groaned and collapsed back onto his bed. As if he didn't have enough stuff to worry about.

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><p><strong>AN: Muahahahaha! And I'm only just getting started…**


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two – Title Sequence**

"_What? You expected another epigraph?"_

_AHighAndLonesomeSound, considering the second chapter of his latest fanfic._

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><p>*fade to black*<p>

*screen lights up*

**HighLonesome Productions proudly present… **

**An AHighAndLonesomeSound fanfiction…**

_**HARRY POTTER AND THE ENDLESS PARADE OF MEANINGLESS CLICHÉS**_

**Starring:**

**Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Now complete with accidental magic he can't control! What will happen to The Boy-Who-Lived next? Keep reading to find out!**

**Lucius Malfoy. If Lucius Malfoy was ridiculously handsome and slightly feminine. Legolas Malfoy, perhaps?**

**Bellatrix Lestrange, who appears to have morphed into a hot goth. What is it with this fanfic and taking unjustifiable liberties with established characters?**

**Hermione Granger. A shy, bookish, somewhat plain girl, and therefore the canon character most likely to be used as a Mary Sue!**

**Luna Lovegood. 'Nuff said.**

**Ginny Weasley and her amazing hair of amazingness.**

**Draco Malfoy, the Boy-Who-Snarked.**

**Severus Snape. He may be a bully and a reformed Death Eater, but he doesn't deserve to have to put up with what this fic is going to unleash…**

**Ron Weasley. Wonder what's going to happen to him in a world filled with fandom clichés…**

**Albus Dumbledore. **_**Nothing**_**, not even Grindelwald, could have prepared him for this.**

**Many, many more canon characters!**

**And special guests, including that guy with the chin. You know. Him. He's cool.**

*fade to black*


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three – A Weekend at Cedric's**

_All persons, living and dead, are purely coincidental._

_The disclaimer from _Timequake_ by Kurt Vonnegut_

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><p>Cho was sitting by Cedric's grave. She went there quite frequently, spending whole weekends away from home, mourning the love of her young life. Anyone who had been passing the graveyard would have seen a teenage girl in Muggle clothes, headphones on, sitting and drawing in a notepad. If they had gone close to her, they might have heard the sound of Manic Street Preachers songs filtering through the cheap headphones. If they'd looked over her shoulder, they would have seen that she was drawing pictures of dead roses. At this point, they would have glanced at her clothes (skinny black jeans, a Nirvana t-shirt, and black-and-white-striped elbow-length fingerless gloves) and dismissed her as a mopey teenage brat hanging around in a graveyard to show how, like, deep and meaningful her feelings were.<p>

To be honest, they weren't far wrong.

She missed Cedric, she really did. Her parents had expressed their concern about the fact that she hadn't moved on at all from her grieving in a year. Before term had ended, Padma Patil had made a similar remark with regards to her damp squib of an attempted relationship with Harry. Nobody seemed to understand how she felt. It was like Voldemort had reached into her chest and plucked out her heart, leaving her with nothing but an empty void and sleepless nights.

She sensed movement behind her, and turned around.

"Here again, Cho?" said Amos Diggory wearily.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her notepad. He didn't understand either, and he was Cedric's _father_.

"Cho," he sighed, sitting down on the grass next to her, "you're still young. You're only seventeen! I miss Ced too, but you can't spend your life mourning him! He'd want you to do other things, to be happy! You know that, don't you?"

She nodded. This was the third time Amos had said this to her in the past month. She stood up, shook his hand and muttered something about trying her best.

As she left the graveyard, she had already decided when she would return. She turned her attention to more pressing matters, like the possibility of getting a tattoo with some really meaningful and important song lyrics on her arm.

She idly wondered where Harry would be buried if Voldemort ever managed to kill him. She would have to mourn him too, of course.

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><p><strong>AN: OK, so more of a short sketch than a chapter, but it was fun to write. Based on an idea that came up in the Daily Query thread on the Teachers' Lounge forum. I'm being harsh on Cho, but she's just the first of many :P  
><strong>


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four – (Significantly Fewer than 500) Days of Summer**

_We've got these days of summer to_

_remind us of each other_

Team StarKid – 'Days of Summer' from _A Very Potter Sequel_

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><p>This was definitely the worst summer of Harry's life. Part of that was because he was mourning Sirius' death. Part of it was because he was reeling from Dumbledore's explanation of the prophecy – and from the Headmaster's refusal to tell him anything more, train him, or do <em>anything<em> to stop him freaking out about the whole thing.

But most of it was the Dursleys.

Harry's adoptive family had always treated him badly, but something had changed over the course of his fifth year in Hogwarts. If he hadn't known that the two men would have held each other in mutual contempt and probably have tried to kill each other on sight, he'd have suspected that Uncle Vernon was now working for Voldemort.

Since returning to Privet Drive, Harry's life had become a series of back-breaking jobs punctuated by physical abuse and withheld food. Neither Dudley nor Aunt Petunia seemed particularly inclined to treat him any differently than they had in the past, but neither did they do anything to stop Vernon's behaviour. Harry couldn't understand it; they were all acting as though this was how Harry had always been treated, despite the huge escalation of his mistreatment.

Frankly, he doubted that he would have survived past childhood had he always been treated this way. As it was, he went to bed each night exhausted and sore, having been locked in his room without food or water. Shockingly, this didn't seem to be having any major effect on his overall physical health. In fact, he had grown six inches and filled out a little since leaving Hogwarts, and all the labour had massively improved his muscle tone. The only signs that something was wrong were the scars and bruises covering his body. There were none anywhere visible when he was dressed – Uncle Vernon wasn't _that_ stupid – but his torso was a mess of bruising and cuts. He was pretty sure he had a cracked rib, too, and really wished his accidental magic would kick in again and start healing him.

The worst part, however, wasn't the physical pain. It was the fear of what his friends would think if they found out. He would be seen as weak, something to be pitied, but also as different, wrong, and broken. He couldn't bear that. Who would want to be his friend if they knew the psychological baggage he was carrying? Who could possibly love him? He was too different: the scar on his forehead marked him as the Chosen One who had to slay Voldemort, and the scars on his torso betrayed the fact that he was a damaged individual.

After several weeks of this, time had become fairly meaningless to Harry. He worked, Vernon kicked or beat him, he grabbed food when he could, he slept, and then the cycle began all over again. He hadn't done any of his schoolwork and all his school things were locked in the cupboard. It was absolutely awful.

He was repainting the landing one hot morning when the doorbell rang. He heard Vernon stomping down the hall and answering the door.

"Hello," said a familiar voice, "I'm here for my friend."

"Hang on," replied Vernon, "Dud! Someone here for you!"

"Oh, no," said the voice, "I'm not here for your son. I'm here for your nephew."

"I don't have –" Vernon began.

"Don't lie to me," said the voice officiously. Harry realised that it was Hermione. "I know him from school. From Hogwarts. And I know you've been mistreating him. And furthermore, unlike most of the people with any concern for Harry's welfare, I'm a Muggle-born, like your late sister-in-law. So I know about things like social services and the police. I think it would be a good idea to let me in. _Now_."

Harry ran to the top of the stairs in time to see Hermione push past a blustering Vernon into the hallway.

"Alright, Harry?" she called. "Got your school things?"

"They're under the stairs," he replied, and ran off to grab his Muggle clothes and Hedwig from his room.

By the time he got downstairs, Hermione had kicked in the cupboard door and removed his trunk and broom. She turned to Vernon.

"You'll be hearing from me. Or from Harry's legal representatives. Good day."

She took Harry by the hand and led him out of the house that had become his prison.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five – The First Paragraph Pretty Much Wrote Itself**

_Men who read it [beauty pornography] don't do so because they want women who look like that. The attraction of what they are holding is that it is not a woman, but a two-dimensional woman-shaped blank. The appeal of the material is not the fantasy that the model will come to life; it is precisely that she will not, ever. Her coming to life would ruin the vision. It is not about life._

Naomi Wolfe_ – _The Beauty Myth__

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><p>Hermione had changed over the summer, and Harry could hardly keep his eyes off her. She had clearly gone through some kind of accelerated puberty growth spurt during the holidays, and had been whacked with a whole load of genetic good luck into the bargain. He was pretty sure that if she stood still he could use her chest as a shelf, and that was before factoring in the suntan, tight t-shirt and mini-skirt, and the newly-tamed hair. Were it not for her voice, eyes, and facial expressions, Harry would have had a hard time believing that this was one of his best friends who he had known for years. He realised that he was staring, and averted his eyes hastily lest she hit him. To his surprise, however, she just smiled and put her arm around his waist.<p>

"So… where are we going? The Burrow?" he asked.

"Not just yet," she replied, "I think there are some things we need to discuss first, and my parents are away on holiday, so I thought we might go back to my house for today."

He had never been to the Grangers' house before, in fact he didn't even know where it was. This could be interesting.

"How're we getting there?" he replied. "Bus?"

"Oh, no, Muggle transport would take too long and if we use the Knight Bus we might be traced. We're going to Apparate."

"But…" he said, his mind reeling at the suggestion, "neither of us know how to Apparate! And you can't do it until you're of age, you need a license and everything!"

"You'd think," smirked Hermione, "but I decided to spend the summer learning useful skills, given how important our DA training turned out to be, and I found an old book on practical magic that was written before the Statute of Secrecy and all the legal limitations on magic use that followed it. It turns out that there's a far simpler method of Apparition than the one modern wizards use. They were never taught the simple way because the International Confederation of Wizards wanted people using a form of Apparition that they could trace, and that would be too difficult for most underage wizards to master. So I learned the archaic form, and the best part is not even the most powerful mage alive could trace us."

Harry frowned. It seemed that it wasn't just the modern Ministry that was corrupt and deceitful. It was a little odd, however, that Hermione just happened to have rediscovered and learned this incredibly convenient form of Apparition. He pushed that thought aside. Of course she had worked it out. She was the Smartest Witch of Her Age. In fact, she wasn't just smart. She was one of the kindest, bravest, gentlest, sexiest girls he had ever met.

She took his hand, and his heart skipped a beat.

The world vanished in a blur of colour. He felt like his insides were being squeezed in a vice. Then, suddenly, he was standing in a bedroom, still holding Hermione's hand. She let go, and he collapsed on the floor. The Apparition had been the last straw for his malnourished and mistreated body.

"Harry! Harry! What's wrong? What's happening?" squeaked Hermione in shock.

"Nothing… just… Apparition isn't fun." he lied. "I'll be alright in a minute."

He tried to stand up, but felt a sudden burst of pain in his ribs and collapsed again, groaning.

"Harry, there's something wrong with your torso," said Hermione in a worried tone, "perhaps you splinched yourself or something. Let me take off your t-shirt and check, OK?"

He shook his head, biting back a groan. He couldn't let her see what was wrong, he couldn't let his perfect friend see how weak and broken he was. However, she disregarded his response and knelt down beside him, pulling his t-shirt up so she could see his ribs. She gasped.

"Harry! What in Merlin's –" she paused, and her face became grim. "The Dursleys did this, didn't they?"

There was no point in lying now, so he nodded and grunted "Vernon".

He could see tears in her eyes, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she helped him up on to the bed. Her bed, he realised. She opened her wardrobe and began rummaging around in it, eventually pulling out a couple of small bottles.

"Right," she said determinedly, "this is Essence of Dittany. That should heal your wounds. The other is a magical tonic. Think of it as being the Wizarding equivalent of a ridiculously powerful protein shake. Drink it and it'll help deal with any internal injuries or malnourishment."

He sat up and downed it in one go, and then allowed Hermione to remove his t-shirt and lie him back down so she could dab Dittany on the various scars and bruises all over his torso. As she tended to his wounds, she asked him about the abuse he had been subjected to. He found himself opening up to her in a way he never had to anyone before, telling her about his life before Hogwarts, his Uncle's attempt to prevent him from returning after his first year, threatening his aunt and uncle with Sirius, the full story of the incident with Dudley and the Dementors, and Vernon's sudden escalation of the abuse since Harry's fifth year had ended. She listened in increasing horror, muttering things like "but Mrs Figg must have noticed and told Dumbledore!"

By the end of his story, he felt exhausted, drained, and ashamed. He turned his face away from Hermione.

"I'm sorry I'm so weak," he muttered. "I know you think I'm this brave guy who's some kind of hero, but I'm not. I'm an emotionally-damaged idiot who can't hold off a few Muggles."

He glanced back at her and saw that she was crying.

"Oh, Harry, you idiot!" she exclaimed. "You're _not_ weak! Think of the self-control it must have taken when you were a kid not to just wipe them all out in a burst of accidental magic!"

She hugged him tightly.

"You're my best friend, and you're amazing, and I want you to always remember that. And, if it's any help, I've been doing some research into Wizarding inheritance law, and I'm going to take you to Gringotts tomorrow. Sirius' will needs to be read, and I suspect a few other things can be arranged to ensure you need never go back to Privet Drive again."

He smiled. It was things like this that made Hermione so wonderful: he had hardly been gone from Privet Drive an hour and she had already started solving his problems. They lay side-by-side in companionable silence for a short while, until Harry began to fall asleep, lulled by the sensation of Hermione softly stroking his hair.

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><p><strong>AN: Woo! StarKid reference! **


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